


i’m afraid that i’ve grown vacant

by ohallows



Series: give up control [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Infected Characters, M/M, Other, Season 4 Spoilers, playing around with canon topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: None of them noticed the blue veins until it was far too late to do anything about it. None of them noticed the erratic behavior, the sidelong glances, the way the eyes would droop until snapping back into alertness. None of them noticed the shaking hands, the lack of prestidigitation, the change in combat.None of them noticed anything until Zolf woke up to Hamid sitting over him, the point of a dagger pressed to his throat, with a terrifying smile etched across his face.





	i’m afraid that i’ve grown vacant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsexualArchivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsexualArchivist/gifts).

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLIE !!!!!! I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW LONG THIS BECAME!!!!! FUCK!!!!
> 
> listen to echos while reading this that’s just the entire vibe yo (title is from ‘revival’ by echos!)
> 
> EDIT: this fic can be read as a stand-alone i’m just putting it in this collection so all my infection fics are in one place :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this was written before cel’s age was revealed! as they’re like.... in their 40s/50s in human years and clearly significantly older than azu, i no longer feel comfortable shipping them, but i also don’t want to take these fics down. so, just a heads up, this was written from a perspective where they were much closer in age. also i won’t be writing any more azu/cel for reasons stated above.

None of them noticed the blue veins until it was far too late to do anything about it. None of them noticed the erratic behavior, the sidelong glances, the way the eyes would droop until snapping back into alertness. None of them noticed the shaking hands, the lack of prestidigitation, the change in combat. None of them noticed anything until Zolf woke up to Hamid sitting over him, the point of a dagger pressed to his throat, with a terrifying smile etched across his face.

This close, Zolf can see the faint blue lines in his eyes, the way his gaze is unfocused, hazy, even as the point of the dagger presses insistently into his throat. It’s funny, almost, and not in a ha-ha way, because one of them should have noticed. One of them should had figured it out, but they didn’t, and now Zolf might be the one paying the price. Which, he supposes, is better than it being Azu or Cel.

“Ham-“ he tries to say, but the dagger just pushes in a millimetre more, and Zolf presses his head back into the pillow as far as he can. 

One hand is pressing Zolf’s into the bed with superhuman strength, and as much as Zolf struggles against it he can’t break the grip. 

He can’t call for anyone. Azu and Cel are staying down the hall, so they’d hear him, but it’s too late. The dagger would slice across his throat before he could get more than half a cry out; but if he can get it talking, he might be able to distract it long enough to - to… _ something_. 

“Why haven’t you just killed me already,” is all Zolf is able to say before it _ laughs_, and it’s discordant and wrong and cruel and distinctly not Hamid. 

“Where would be the fun in _ that_?” he says, and the dagger dances across his skin as Hamid presses his hands harder into the mattress. A trickle of blood forms at the hollow of his throat and Zolf hisses at the sting. Hamid laughs, again, and stares at the blood with undisguised interest, wiping it away with a finger.

And then - the pressure of the dagger is gone, but Hamid is still sitting atop him, staring down at him with unrestrained glee. 

“He’s fighting us, you know,” the… _ thing _ wearing Hamid’s body says, almost conversationally, as it twirls the dagger around in its hand. “Harder than any we’ve taken before. Do you know why that is?”

Zolf doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give it the satisfaction. 

It takes him a moment to realize why he recognizes the dagger. The hilt is familiar to him, only because he’s seen it in Sasha’s hands so many times, and it looks _ wrong _ in Hamid’s grip. It spins in front of his eyes and Zolf can’t keep himself from struggling against Hamid’s grip again, a waste of energy, and the dagger is back at his throat in a heartbeat, not pressing in deep enough to draw blood but deep enough to be a warning. Zolf stops pushing against his ironclad grip, glaring up at Hamid, who looks down on him with a smile that just looks _ incorrect, _ manufactured. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You didn’t answer us. Do you want to know why - Hamid, you called him? - Hamid is fighting back against us so hard. And _ please _ answer, we would hate to ruin the sheets,” the tinny voice says again, and it’s Hamid as much as it decidedly isn’t, a strange quality to his voice making it sound almost dreamlike, robotic. 

Zolf doesn’t answer, again, and the flat of the dagger presses against his throat; he winces as it brushes against the cut that’s already there, sending another quick sting of pain through his nerve endings. 

“You should answer us,” it says, and it’s no longer amused, no longer casual. Hamid’s voice is ominous and duplicated, echoing across the room as it’s overlayed with unfamiliar tones.

Zolf holds out, still, keeping his lips clasped firmly shut, and the thing _ sighs_, sounding so much like Hamid, as this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. 

“Fine, then. You’ll still have to listen to us,” it says. “We can see… all his thoughts, you know. About you.” 

Zolf’s not surprised. The infected have a way of drilling into their hosts memories, a way to make the illusion more concrete, more convincing. That’s how Wilde was tricked; once the infection has taken a full hold, there’s no question you can ask that the infection won’t know the answer to. 

“Did you know,” it says, and it’s still smiling, and Zolf doesn’t want to hear this, because there’s a reason Hamid didn’t tell him, a reason he _ didn’t know, _ and it’s not this… infection’s right to tell Hamid’s secrets, “that he loved you?”

Zolf freezes, at that, because it’s not true, it can’t be true. It - it looks for ways to make you weak, to make you easier prey for them. To make you _ comply_, and he’s seen enough children turned by their parents, enough partners turning each other, and he doesn’t - _ can’t _believe it. Not if he wants to have a snowballs chance in making it through this alive. Not if he wants to make it through uninfected, which is looking like a slimmer and slimmer chance with every moment. 

“You’re lying,” he says, automatic, and it shakes its head. 

“He does love you, even if _ he _ might not have twigged it yet,” it says. “There’s only so much self-denial someone can go through before the truth comes out. Why else do you think he -“ it pauses and his eyes go blank, again, as though it’s _ thinking_, and Zolf knows it’s just ticking through Hamid’s memories. “The moment in the graveyard, two weeks ago. He couldn’t stop thinking about how warm you were, when you hugged him. When you were knocked unconscious a month ago, he nearly bit his nails down to nothing waiting for you to wake up, crouching over you protectively. He might have figured it out. Eventually.”

Zolf closes his eyes as the dagger presses in. He won’t believe it. Hamid is - Hamid is just _ like that_, with everyone, it’s not special to him, and this thing is twisting his memories, twisting his actions, into what _ Zolf _ wants them to mean. 

And it makes his chest _ ache_, because it’s using Hamid against him like this, and Hamid never deserved this, but there’s nothing they can do about it now.

“I wonder how best to turn you,” it wonders, dagger dancing across his skin. It’s _ casual_, cocky, overconfident, but Zolf still can’t break the tight grip that it has on his wrists. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I let you live, knowing you let him be turned. Would you like that, Zolf?” Its voice is quiet, now, almost a gentle, caressing whisper.

Something wet falls on his cheek, and he opens his eyes to find Hamid crying, still leaning over him, dagger shaking in his hand, eerie smile still stretched tightly across his face. 

“Hamid,” Zolf whispers, and he swears he can see something of Hamid still in the eyes, something broken and battered and so, _ so _ tired. “It’s okay.”

And it’s desperate, and it’s sad, and Zolf can’t manage a smile when he knows that the dagger is going to cut across his throat in a moment and spray the white sheets red, but if there is even a piece of Hamid left in there, he needs to know Zolf doesn’t blame him. Not for this. 

Another tear falls on his face and Zolf lets his eyes shut, because he can tell Hamid it’s okay but he can’t watch his face change with glee before the dagger pulls against his throat. No such blow comes. 

“Z-“ he hears the choked noise from above him and opens his eyes to see Hamid’s closed, entire body shaking even as the dagger presses now insistently into him, not drawing blood yet but on the cusp of it.

“Zolf,” Hamid whispers, and the veins are still there, and his gaze is unfocused, gaze flicking back and forth as he shakes his head as though clearing it of something. And then he gives a full-body shudder, breathing in deeply as his eyes come to rest on Zolf’s mouth. 

Zolf lets himself relax, then, lulling it into a false sense of security as the thing wearing Hamid’s face leans down, eyes slipping shut as the dagger falls away from Zolf’s throat. And his lips are nearly brushing against Zolf’s, now, he can feel Hamid’s warm breath against them, and it makes his chest _ ache_, but he knows it’s not real. Can’t be real - can’t be real - and Zolf takes the opportunity.

He moves, rolling the two of them so that he’s the one pinning Hamid to the bed as the dagger slips from his grip and clatters to the floor. He’s thankful, now, that the magic legs Wilde had been able to obtain don’t actually need to be taken off while he’s sleeping. Hamid _ snarls _ and bucks against Zolf, thrashing wildly as he yells and screams, cursing him in a language Zolf doesn’t recognize. Zolf struggles to keep him down; normally, he’d have no trouble beating Hamid in a contest of strength, but the infection makes you more powerful, more of a threat, and he can feel himself losing his grip. 

The doors to their room burst open and Azu stumbles in, Cel trailing behind her with their hair sticking out at all angles. 

Hamid _ whines _ a wounded, “Help…” and Azu immediately moves toward Zolf, eyes alight in anger, and he realizes that Hamid is whimpering now, laying limp on the bed.

“No, Azu -“ Zolf says, refusing to let go of Hamid, because the second he does, it’s going to leap at all of them. “He’s infected, _ he’s infected_, we have to get him restrained - look at his arms!” 

Hamid’s sleeves, always long, always covering him to the wrist, have pulled back in the struggle, and the blue veins are obvious now, standing out brightly against his dark skin. Azu notices, clearly, and halts in her tracks, face absolutely _ shattering _ as she looks from him to Zolf.

“Azu, _ please!” _ Hamid cries, and it almost works on Zolf, even though he’d woken up to Hamid pressing a dagger into his throat, but Zolf doesn’t let go, and Azu’s face hardens as she joins him on the bed, keeping Hamid in place so that Zolf can pull one of his arms free and cast Hold Person, keeping Hamid’s limbs locked together on the bed and glaring up at all of them, hate burning in his eyes. Whatever bit of Hamid Zolf had still seen in his gaze is gone, now, if it had ever been there in the first place. 

Azu finally lets go, even as Zolf continues to hold on, although he slides off of Hamid. Hamid is prone on the bed, but his eyes are able to move, and they follow Zolf’s every movement.

“Someone get Wilde,” Zolf says, because there’s no way he’s going to be the one leaving, and with a quick nod of their head Cel leaves the room, running down the hallway and shouting for Wilde to get out of whatever room he’s in and come help. 

—

Everything is a blur, after that. Zolf knows the protocol, knows what he should have done, but it’s _ Hamid_, and he, Azu, and even Cel are all of the same opinion on this, for as much as that opinion counts when they’ve all been in contact with him for so long. 

There’s so much they don’t know. When Hamid got turned, how he did, how long the infection has been sitting under his skin, waiting for the moment to strike out at them, nothing. 

Zolf doesn’t know how he convinces Wilde not to just kill Hamid, but he _ does _ , and Wilde _ listens _ for once in his life, even if he does look extremely unhappy about it. It helps when Zolf proves he doesn’t have any blue veins stretching across his skin, isn’t speaking under the influence of something yet. He doesn’t think Hamid was able to turn him, not before Azu and Cel burst into the room, but he can’t be sure, and neither can Wilde.

They get quarantined. That much contact with an infected person, you get chucked in a cage, and Zolf is no exception. Azu and Cel are tossed in the cells next to him, since they’d all been with Hamid for the last week, and it’s… difficult. Azu is silent, glaring at Wilde every time he comes down the stairs for the daily search, which is awful in a number of ways. Cel won’t stop talking, and the distraction would be welcome in any other circumstance but Zolf can feel the guilt clawing at his chest, and the only thing he can think about is Hamid in a cell near them, silent, the infection digging deeper and deeper into his mind.

Wilde can’t override the protocol, even though he seems reasonably sure that none of them are affected, so it’s a long stay in the cells for them. Hamid is kept away, and Zolf’s sure it’s because Wilde doesn’t trust him to not use them against him, or because he doesn’t want to risk any more exposure through the bars. Zolf asks him every day if Hamid has said anything, if the thing piloting him has offered up any explanation, and the dark look in Wilde’s eyes is his answer.

Three days in is when Wilde breaks, finally responding to Zolf’s question, and it’s an ugly fight that follows. Azu joins on Zolf’s side while Cel maintains a carefully neutral stance, uncharacteristic for them. 

What it boils down to is, Wilde doesn’t want to keep Hamid around, just in case. He refuses to even look at him, refuses to speak to him, and Zolf doesn’t know why Wilde listened to him when he begged him to keep Hamid alive, to try and figure out where the hell this came from, to gain any intel about the infection they can. 

Zolf can’t blame him. Wilde’s been burned before, had to get rid of his own friends, and he shouldn’t expect any sort of special treatment for Hamid, and yet. He can’t let Wilde do anything to Hamid, even if he’s gone. Even if there’s nothing of _ Hamid _ left behind. 

He says as much, and the pitying glance Wilde gives him _ burns_, because Wilde’s been where he is, and he didn’t get the chance to save them, but Zolf is begging for his own chance. 

Wilde gives it to him, after he says that. Lets Hamid stay alive, at least until Zolf gets out of the cage uninfected and can speak to him himself.

Four more days in the cell.

Cel, for their part, has been quieter than normal, more muted. They ask about Jasper, sometimes, but there’s no real hope in their voice and Wilde doesn’t have any answer for them. 

Three more days in the cell. 

Zolf thinks. It’s his fault. 

Two more days in the cell. 

Hamid’s been turned, somehow, and Zolf has no idea why it only got to him and not the rest of them. No idea how _ he _ got away, when by all rights Hamid - or, the thing that _ used to be Hamid _\- should have killed him quietly in his sleep. These things had never wanted to gloat before.

They hadn’t been in contact with an infected person since they got back from their last mission, so it had to have been then. But neither Cel nor Azu had remembered anything about running into an infected person, and Zolf has no idea when Hamid could have gone out without the group and become infected. 

One more day in the cell.

Zolf can’t get the image of Hamid above him, knife to his throat, out of his head. He should be dead, now. But Hamid - Hamid has been fighting it, and maybe it was a lie or maybe it was the truth, but there’s a reason that that thing didn’t kill him. And if it’s right, if there’s a part of Hamid that’s still… awake, in there, still able to understand, even after the infection has completely taken over, then maybe there’s still some hope left. Never mind that they don’t have a cure. Never mind that no one has ever been anything other than completely lost.

The seven days are up, and Zolf is just as confused as he was before.

—

Seven days have passed, and no blue veins, and Zolf is finally able to go visit Hamid. Or, whatever that thing is that infected him. They still don’t know enough about this situation, and someone has to get answers from it to convince Wilde to let it stick around beyond listening to all of Zolf’s messy feelings.

Zolf takes it upon himself to visit. Cel doesn’t particularly want to, and Azu abjectly refuses. Plus, there has to be a reason it went after Zolf first. A reason why it didn’t turn him immediately, why it waited for him to wake up before even beginning to threaten him with the dagger.

He slips into the basement with Wilde’s permission, after promising not to go into the cell. Zolf’s not an _ idiot_, he’s not going to give this thing another chance to get him.

Hamid, behind bars. It’s a cruel callback to Dover, a reminder that Zolf doesn’t want or need right now.

He gets closer to the cell, and even in the dim light can see how terrible Hamid looks, beat half to hell, and Zolf doesn’t know who Wilde is getting to do his dirty work while he’s been locked up in a cell, but his stomach flips to see the matching black eyes and split lip on Hamid’s face. 

“The one that got away,” it croaks, giving him a wink that looks painful. “Should have slit your throat in your sleep.”

Zolf leans forward, not close enough to the bars to be grabbed even if it did break the binding around Hamid’s wrists. “Why didn’t you?”

The thing’s eyes glint as it looks at him, and a cruel smile pulls at its mouth, stretching the split lip farther. “Why the hell would we tell you that?”

Zolf’s fists clench at his side as he resists grabbing the bars, resists leaning in closer. “You were chatty enough when you had the chance. What changed now?”

The smirk doesn’t leave its face. “Don’t want to.”

Anger rises through his veins, twined tightly with guilt and regret, and Zolf can’t hold back as he pounds his fists on the bars. 

“Tell me something. Anything, so that we don’t kill you where you sit,” Zolf demands, and he’s used to this, used to threatening, but the thing just laughs, and it doesn’t sound right in Hamid’s voice.

“And who’s going to do it? You? Don’t pretend like you could ever lay a finger on him,” it says, running an eye over Zolf. “We knew to target him for a reason. You all love him, don’t you? It’s harder to imagine him gone.”

Zolf doesn’t react, doesn’t respond, but the thing still gasps, overdramatic, and eyes alight as it gazes at Zolf.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You wish it was you,” the thing breathes, and then it’s laughing again. “The guilt must be eating at you - you didn’t protect him. Didn’t save him. Don’t know how to get rid of… well, _ me _ . Can I tell you a secret, Zolf? Can I?” It leans forward, and there’s nothing of Hamid in the posture as it tilts its head to the side, staring almost adoringly up at Zolf from where it sits. “ _ You can’t.” _

It laughs, and it’s wrong and high-pitched and gleeful, and it follows Zolf down the hallway as he slams the door to the cellar behind him, loudly echoing across the walls. 

He stumbles forward to a chair and sinks into it. Thankfully, everyone else must have gone to bed (or to work), leaving him a free hallway to have a mental breakdown in.

—

“We have a _ mission, _ Zolf,” Wilde hisses at him from across the table, and Zolf knows he’s right but he’s finding it hard to focus on that right now. Not with Hamid off the team, the only constant from the beginning; Azu and Cel are incredible and effective, and Zolf would rather die than lose either of them, but Hamid… Sasha’s gone, is the thing, and Zolf had thought he’d already mourned her, but Hamid came back and he wondered, _ what if_, until Hamid has just looked shattered at the mention of her, and Zolf can take a hint. He never cared for Bertie, and has a lot of complicated feelings around the man’s death, but Hamid is still here, and Zolf feels, well. He has to keep him safe, and he’s been failing miserably so far.

“We need to stop this, yeah?” he says, desperate, giving Wilde a pleading look and not caring if it’s used against him later. “Finding a cure. That stops it. Who - who _ cares _ where it’s coming from, we still need to know how to reverse it.”

“You’re letting your emotions rule you, Zolf,” Wilde says dismissively. “Without finding the source, we can’t stop it from making more. This infection is a hydra - we can cure as many people as we want, but more will come back. We have to destroy the body, you _ know _ this.”

“But if we can cure people, if we can help them, we can be just as much help! Yes, we have to find the source, but what then? We don’t _ know _ if that will stop this!”

“Zolf. Why do you want this,” Wilde says, and it’s dangerous, low, but Zolf refuses to back down. 

“Because we’re supposed to be _ saving people_, Wilde, not sacrificing everyone for the cause! Maybe you -“

“No, it’s because it’s _ Hamid!_” Wilde shouts, and Zolf hasn’t seen him get this emotional since they’d been betrayed by someone _ Wilde _ trusted. “Look me in the eyes, Zolf. Tell me. If this were anyone else, barring Azu and the new one, would you be fighting this hard to save them? Would you be delaying everything, going back on your _ word_, just for less than a single chance in _ hell _ of us being able to bring them back?”

Zolf stares daggers back at him, breathing heavily, and purses his lips. Wilde has him, and he _ knows _it. 

He just… doesn’t care. Wilde’s right.

“Please,” Zolf says, and it’s the closest he’s willing to go to begging, and he hates the pleading note in his voice, but this is his line.

Wilde stares at him, then, and there’s the same mix of pity and resignation in his eyes, as Wilde turns his back on Zolf and swears, loudly. 

“If he kills anyone, it’s on your hands, Zolf,” Wilde warns, turning, any semblance of sympathy gone from his voice as he levels Zolf with a cool stare. Zolf nods, jerkily, and turns to leave. 

He doesn’t thank him. 

—

They have to go on a mission sometime. Zolf gets it, he does, but there’s a niggling feeling of distrust under his skin when Wilde slides the folder across the table to him. He can’t help but feel that Wilde wants him out of the picture for a while, to give Zolf time to breathe. He isn’t going to change his mind about Hamid, regardless of how far away he gets, so if that’s Wilde’s goal, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

“What’s the objective?” he says, instead of the numerous expletive-filled things running through his mind.

“We have a lead. It’s virus-related, although we can’t be sure if it’s about the cause or about a cure. Could be both, could be neither. I need you and your team to go in and recover it. Casualties at a minimum, we don’t want to tip them off.”

“What, only three of us?” Zolf says, raising an eyebrow. “Sure that’s enough?”

“You and the others are more than capable,” Wilde says, rising from his chair and physically handing the file to Zolf after he still hasn’t picked it up. “Two weeks, tops, and then you get back here. Don’t fuck this up.”

“We won’t,” Zolf says. 

“And you know the rule. The mission above all else, Zolf,” Wilde says, and if there’s extra emphasis on it this go-around, Zolf pretends not to hear it. There are other, more pressing matters to attend to.

Speaking of.

The thing possessing Hamid hasn’t given up any answers, sitting silently in its cell or laughing anytime Zolf has gone by. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and it sounds wrong in Hamid’s throat, a cackle that tears out of him, leaves him breathless. Zolf fights down the urge to go in the cell, to do whatever it takes to get some actual answers out of the thing, reminding himself that it’s still Hamid’s body, even if his consciousness is a little vacant right now.

He doesn’t go down there often, anymore. It makes his chest throb every time he sees Hamid there, every time he thinks about the virus ravaging Hamid’s mind, every time he physically _ feels _ the empty space beside him, where Hamid should be standing. 

Azu goes down once, alone, and the shuttered rage that Zolf sees on her face after she comes out makes him want to comfort her, if not for the clear ‘don’t come near me’ vibes emanating from her as she walks. She doesn’t visit Hamid - or, well, whatever is inhabiting him now - anymore after that. Zolf doesn’t blame her. _ Can’t _ blame her, not when he’s been doing basically the same thing. 

He doesn’t go down to visit it one last time.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Zolf announces to the room, shutting the door behind him, and both Azu and Cel look up in surprise. “We have a mission. Wilde wants us on it.”

They both share a look, and something passes between them that Zolf can’t read, so he just shifts awkwardly in the doorway until Azu looks up at him. “What kind of mission?”

“Intel. Just doing some reconnaissance, Wilde got a lead on some documents that should help. Won’t be stealth, because. Well.” He looks Azu and Cel up and down and shrugs, almost apologetically. “Stealth isn’t any of our fortes.”

He sees Azu flinch at the mention of stealth and feels the answering dull thrum of pain in his own chest that he gets whenever he thinks of Sasha. It’s more raw, for Azu. More recent. Zolf has had 18 months to cope with everyone being dead (two of those being months he absolutely didn’t cope even _ slightly_), but this is all new for Azu. He shoots her an apologetic glance that she acknowledges with a gentle incline of her head, and he claps his hands together.

“Right, ah, we need to get our kits sorted, figure out what rations to bring - Cel, you mind grabbing some potions? And maybe empty vials as well. Azu and myself will get the rest.”

Cel nods. “Cheers.”

“And you’re alright, going off on a mission right now?” Azu asks, and from anyone else it would sound sarcastic, but from her it’s genuinely sincere. 

Zolf nods. He’s… he’s not, not really, but seeing as he doesn’t have much choice, sitting around here twiddling his thumbs, he’s not 100% opposed to the idea. 

“Well I, for one, am excited to get some more info. And to stick it to those Shoin poopyheads,” Cel says, cracking their knuckles as they give Azu and Zolf a wicked grin.

Zolf can relate. Nothing better for the troubled mind than kicking in the teeth of some people who want the world to burn.

—

The mission is a success. Zolf feels like he’s worked out some of the anxious energy thrumming through his veins which, in hindsight, might have been Wilde’s goal all along. The bastard is freakishly good at reading people, and himself and Zolf have been working together for a while, even if they barely only consider themselves friends, so it makes sense that he could see Zolf was on a tether about to snap. 

Not only do they take down some of Shoin’s men, but they recover the information and then some. Wilde’s intel was right on the money. And Zolf got to work out some of his anxieties, so. Win win all around. 

The mission itself isn’t as hard as it could have been. Cel had brewed up some greater invisibility potions before they’d all headed off, and they’d each necked a bottle before stepping close enough to be seen. Easier stealing info when no one can see you coming. 

They get out with minor injuries all around - the potions had faded when they were almost out of the building, so they’d only had to fight their way through a few of the lower level guards, and then they were making their way back to the inn to drop it off to Wilde. 

The trek back is the one that worries Zolf most. He’d wanted to try to do it in a day, but Azu had put her foot down and pointed out how useless they would all be if they were fatigued, and Zolf had begrudgingly agreed that she had a point. Cel found them a spot where they could camp and, after digging around in their own bag of holding for a while, pulled out enough materials to make a decent tent out of. They decide to do watches in intervals, since Zolf refuses to leave the sheaf of papers in the rucksack without eyes on it. There’s too much at stake here, and they’re still not in friendly territory; Zolf’s not taking any risks with it, not when it has information that might help save people. Might help save Hamid.

—

The research they found is above Zolf’s head, even with all of the work he’s been doing looking into the simulacrum. It’s full of complex diagrams and ciphers, looking a lot like Edison’s old notebook, if a bit more organized. 

Thankfully, it’s not too complex for all of them. Wilde seems to have some ideas, and even Carter contributes some interesting ideas and insight. 

But Cel… Cel _ thrives _ with the information, sequesters themself away in their room with only Azu for company at some moments, and works. Zolf isn’t sure what they’re doing in there, but he can feel the gears starting to grind in his head, the common restlessness of inaction. Something needs to happen, something needs to turn, something -

Cel does… _ something_. 

It’s the middle of the night when he hears an explosion from down the hallway and in an instant he’s up on his feet, hands scrabbling for the glaive he never leaves too far from his side. He bursts through the door to his room, shouldering it open, and finds that he’s not the only one in the hallway. Azu stands outside her room with her axe raised, and she whirls to face Zolf as he appears. Together, silently, they creep down the hallway, spotting the smoke curling from underneath Cel’s door. They share a look, and then the door to Cel’s room nearly falls off its hinges as they swing it open, smacking against the wall.

“I did it!” Cel crows. “Well, I think I did, we’ll still need a test subject and a control and for it to work on a multitude of subjects so that the study is replicated, and then running more tests, and…” They continue chattering as Zolf and Azu share a dumbfounded look, and Zolf’s glaive clatters to the floor.

“A cure?” he demands, cutting across Cel, who gives him a slightly betrayed look, muttering something about scientific breakthroughs never being appreciated. Zolf ignores them. “Is that what you’re saying, you have a cure? You sure?”

Cel nods. “I was _ getting _ to that, gods. Yes, I think so, although we won’t be able to be certain until we test it.” They gesture to the potion in their hand. “And I’m sure you don’t want the little guy to be patient 0.”

They have a point. It might make him callous, and he _ does _ have faith in Cel, he truly does, but if it doesn’t work, he doesn’t want Hamid to be on the other end of it.

—

They go hunting. Well, that’s a terrible word for it, but it’s really the only way to describe it. With Wilde’s permission, they head out, looking for anyone else who might be infected. It doesn’t take them long at all, not in this world. Not when the infected are seemingly lurking around every corner. 

Zolf doesn’t know what it is, but when they’re able to get another infected person sedated and into the cage, and the potion Cel created _ works_, he almost cries with relief. 

They wait a week, again. The random woman they’d grabbed hisses and spits and fights them as they restrain her, pouring the potion down her throat.

She goes limp as soon as she swallows it, gasping for air, and then her head lolls back as her eyes stare, unseeing, up at the ceiling. Zolf checks for a pulse and it’s strong and steady, if a bit slow. 

“Here, grab her,” he says, and Azu obliges, slipping one arm under her neck and the other under her legs. She brings the woman to the med room, gently laying her down on one of the cots. The restraints snap to life at Zolf’s coaxing, wrapping around her arms and legs, adamantine-strengthened so as to not be easily broken.

She’s out for a while. A few days pass, and then a few more, when the solution finally takes hold. An ear-splitting scream echoes down the hallway and Zolf jolts upright in the med room, glaive in hand as he points it toward the woman on the bed. She isn’t moving to attack him, though, or trying to break the bindings, just staring around confused as tears fall down her face. 

“Where - where am I?” she asks, bleary eyes focusing on Zolf. “Am - I don’t remember what happened, but I wasn’t in control, where am I? Who are you?”

Zolf casts sense motive in lieu of answering and the read comes back clear. He hesitantly rests his glaive against the corner of the room and takes a step forward, making sure it’s within arm’s reach of him just in case. 

“Is there anything you do remember?” he asks instead of answering any of her questions, and she whimpers again. 

“I - I remember not being _ me,” _she says, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. “I don’t think I hurt anyone, but. How can I be sure, how -“ she cuts herself off, starting to take small hitched breaths.

“You - did you all save me, from that? From whatever took over me?”

Zolf nods. “We’ll have to wait some time to make sure it doesn’t come back, but hopefully the infection is gone now.”

She stares at him, and her hands begin to shake more, now, as they curl up together in her lap. “Thank you, gods, thank you. But what if it does come back? What if I’m not free of it yet?” her breaths are coming faster now as her eyes dart wildly around the room.

Zolf can recognize the beginning of a panic attack, so he bangs loudly on the door behind him because he really doesn’t think he’s equipped to be the one to deal with this, especially not when he’s running on fumes from being on watch nearly all night. In a heartbeat, Azu comes in through the door like a freight train, glancing around wildly until she sees the woman on the bed in tears, babbling.

“Oh dear, oh, there there,” Azu says, when Zolf gives a helpless shrug (he’s never been good with the whole bedside manner thing, anyway) and nods to indicate that she’s all clear. She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, and the woman leans into her arms, wrists and legs still restrained.

And maybe they shouldn’t trust her, but there’s something about her, something that makes Zolf believe she hasn’t found a way to slip past the protocol.

“Thank you,” she says, again, sobbing into Azu’s arms, who strokes her hair and whispers soothing words into her ears. 

Zolf can tell that the hope is blooming in his chest while he thinks of Hamid, and tries to keep it under strict lock and key. Just because it worked for one person doesn’t mean it will work for everyone.

She’s kept under observation, because no one is yet willing to take a chance, and even with how capable Cel has proven themself to be there’s still a healthy amount of suspicion surrounding the cure, mainly stemming from Wilde. It’s hard to trust, sometimes, especially when trusting has almost killed you in the past. 

Seven days pass, again, and there aren’t any blue veins, and she seems more… herself, in a way that she hadn’t before. More clear. 

The cure works.

Zolf would call it a miracle, but it’s not, it’s _ Cel_, although honestly they might be close to one at this point. They need to try it on more infected, before they can be sure, but Zolf has a feeling in his chest that he hasn’t had in… longer than he can remember. 

He thinks - he’s loath to put words to it, as though that will jinx the outcome, but. He thinks they might be able to win.

Starting with Hamid.

It has to work on Hamid. It has to.

—

They administer the cure. 

Hamid doesn’t wake up.

The blue veins are gone, disappeared, but Hamid isn’t waking up, and Zolf doesn’t know what else he can do. 

Wilde must sense how stir crazy he is, the rut he’s wearing into the carpet in the med room, because a few mornings later he’s called into Wilde’s office and another file is being slid across the table to him. 

“Leave, Zolf,” Wilde says, eventually, and there’s a bone-deep exhaustion pulling at him, dragging him down into the dirt. “I promise we’ll just watch over him for seven days and see if the infection comes back. That’s it.”

Zolf doesn’t want to say yes, but his head is spinning the longer he sits there, so he takes the file from Wilde and agrees.

He says goodbye to Hamid before he leaves. He doesn’t know how long this mission is going to take, and he doesn’t really want to leave Hamid here, but there’s nothing else he can do, and he’s not helping people just… sitting here and watching Hamid breathe. 

Zolf squeezes Hamid’s hand, sitting down in the chair he’s made his second bed for the past week.

“We’re going out on a mission,” he says; he doesn’t know if Hamid is even in there anymore, if Hamid can hear him, but he’s had enough of pessimism for his entire life so until proven otherwise he’s going to hope. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Hamid doesn’t respond, doesn’t even twitch, other than the slight rise and fall of his chest that means he’s still breathing, still here.

Zolf does something stupid, or maybe he does something hopeful. He’s too tired to discern between the two.

“This doesn’t have to - to mean anything,” he murmurs, leaning over to press his lips to Hamid’s forehead. “Not if you don’t want it to. You may not even remember this, but. In case something goes wrong. If there’s even a part of you left in there, Hamid, anything that can hear me… I’m so sorry. I should have protected you. But. This should work, and if it does… there may be a conversation that we need to have.

“For now, Hamid, just. Please wake up,” he whispers, and squeezes Hamid’s hand where he’s holding it, and then he’s letting go, dropping Hamid’s hand back to the bed, and stepping out of the room, brushing subtly at his eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

—

Cel leaves Wilde with a set of detailed notes about the cure, just in case, and a note to call Jasper if Wilde needs something deciphered - Jasper’s always been good at reading their handwriting and their mind, even though Cel is reasonably certain they never taught him that last one. 

Wilde all but escorts them out of the inn, and he doesn’t slam the door in their faces but it is a near thing.

The mission isn’t difficult, more like a clean-up job than anything else. There are rumors of some infected on the move toward a nearby town, and if they make it, they’ll have access to even more of Japan. It’s up to them to stop the infected in their tracks before they can start turning the town.

It feels good, being back out in the field, even if Zolf can’t completely get the image of Hamid, pale, laying in a bed in the med room out of his mind.

—

Hamid does wake up, eventually. Zolf isn’t there when he does.

—

He hears a few days later, when Wilde sends a letter his way. They’re in the middle of clearing up the town, chasing down the few infected left in the dark, when the note arrives in the care of a small boy, who immediately scampers back off into the woods. 

_ He’s awake, _ the letter says, and Zolf lets go of it in shock, paper fluttering to the ground. 

“Azu! Cel!” he nearly yells, only just remembering to keep his voice at a low hiss lest he disturb any of the infected still roaming around the town. “We have to get back to the inn, now. Hamid’s up,” he says, and Azu blinks over at him.

“He’s - it worked?” she asks, and Zolf shakes his head.

“We can’t be sure,” he says, ignoring Carl’s petulant, “yes we can,” muttered under their breath. “Wilde didn’t say. Just that he was awake.”

Azu and Cel exchange a look. “I want to go back too,” Azu says, hesitant. “But we have to finish this first. We can’t let the town be overrun.”

Cel nods their agreement, and a muscle works in Zolf’s jaw. They’re right, of _ course _ they’re right, because they can’t leave the town alone no matter how much Zolf’s aching to get back. No matter how much his chest begs him to return, to make sure Hamid’s safe.

They stay. They fight. They win. And then they leave, and with each step back toward the inn Zolf feels a little bit lighter.

Hamid should be the first person he goes to when he gets back. Should be. 

Isn’t.

Instead, he goes to Wilde. Barges through the door, Azu on his heels and brimming with righteous, holy fire, towering above the both of them as she stands, glaring at Wilde, in the center of the room. Zolf doesn’t wait. He strides over and reaches up to grab Wilde by the lapel and pulls him down to his level.

“Why. Didn’t. You tell us,” he bites out, physically shaking with rage. His fists tighten on Wilde’s collar when the man doesn’t look _ half _ as scared as Zolf thinks he should do.

“You had a _ mission_, Zolf,” Wilde says. “Hamid was stable, nothing was going wrong. He could keep for a few days while you all tied up loose ends, as it were.”

Zolf drops Wilde into his seat but doesn’t back away. Azu is a reassuring presence at his back; he can feel the anger emanating from her as they form a united front against Wilde.

The annoying thing… is that he isn’t wrong. They didn’t want to leave, couldn’t leave, but the second the villagers were safe they were on their way back, Zolf’s heart in his throat. 

So, whatever. He settles for just glaring at Wilde, arms crossed, as they all stand there in a tense silence.

“He’s asking for you,” Wilde says, finally breaking it as he steeples his fingers, looking over at Zolf and Azu. “Both of you. Maybe you should pop in there, hmm?”

Zolf clenches his fists, but a gentle hand on his shoulder forces him to at least try to relax. Still, he gives Wilde a withering glare before turning around. He doesn’t see or hear anything from Azu behind him, but it takes her an extra five seconds for her to catch up with him, so he hopes it’s something threatening that will make Wilde think twice in the future. He won’t hold out hope for _ that_, though. 

—

Hamid’s asleep when Zolf gets into the med room, but he looks better somehow. More there, less pale. His breathing is even, and Zolf only barely resists reaching out a hand to brush Hamid’s curls off of his forehead, to tuck them back behind his ear.

Nothing to do but wait. Zolf sits down in the chair that he’d been stuck in before the mission, but it feels less hopeless than it did before. Azu stays with him, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of Hamid, not bothering to hide the concern and hope from her face as she gazes at him. Cel comes in for a spell, looking more like they’re checking vitals than anything else, checking for side effects from the potion. They leave satisfied, and Zolf lets out a heavy sigh. 

And he waits.

And he waits.

Azu leaves, at some point, resting a warm hand on Zolf’s shoulder as she does, promising to bring him some food from the kitchens.

He thanks her. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when Hamid stirs. Zolf thinks he must have dozed off, at some point, since it’s dark in the room. Hamid makes a small sound of discomfort, face scrunching up as his eyes blink open, squinting up at the ceiling. 

Zolf’s off his feet and standing over the bed, hand resting on Hamid’s arm to get his attention. “Hey - hey, Hamid,” Zolf says, smiling down at him while Hamid shakes his head slowly, looking back up at him.

“Zolf?” Hamid croaks, running a hand over his face. “Is - what happened?”

“Yeah, Hamid, ah - it’s me,” Zolf says. “You’re in one of the med rooms here at the inn, you’ve been out for a couple of weeks, now. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been passed out for a couple of weeks,” Hamid says, groaning as he tries to sit up. “Help?”

Zolf does, helping Hamid lean back against the headboard. “Do you need anything? Food, water? Answers?”

Hamid laughs, but it sounds raw, and his eyes are still slightly unfocused as he looks at Zolf. “Answers would be nice, and some water, please. Even just the thought of food makes me nauseous.”

“Well, that’s a worrying idea,” Zolf teases, and it almost comes out too soft for this. “Hamid, not eating? Whatever would we do?”

Hamid glares at him, but it’s only half-hearted. “If I didn’t think that moving my arms was too much of an effort, I’d hit you for that.”

Zolf chuckles, and Hamid cracks a smile, leaning back and closing his eyes. He busies himself pouring a glass of water for Hamid, wrapping Hamid’s hand around it but keeping his there as well, lifting it up to Hamid’s lips. 

“Thank you,” Hamid says, once he’s completely drained the glass. His voice sounds better, now, stronger, less like glass being scraped across the inside of his throat. “What happened?”

“We’re not… completely sure,” Zolf says, and it comes out like he’s hedging, but it’s not even a lie. “You got turned, somehow. Thankfully we were able to subdue you - no one got hurt, you didn’t hurt anyone, so you can stop worrying about that - and kept you in a cell.”

“I - I didn’t hurt anyone?” he said, brow furrowing. “Are you sure?”

The scar on Zolf’s throat says otherwise, but he’s not going to be the one to bring that up to Hamid. Not now, not when he’s finally okay again. And it’s fine, it wasn’t life-threatening, and it was just_ Zolf _. Not a civilian, not Azu or Cel, just Zolf. 

“You didn’t,” he said. “We’re all here, all okay. All safe. Well, for a given value of safe, in this world.”

Hamid nods, but he doesn’t completely look like he believes Zolf. “And then what?”

“Well, kept you in the anti-magic cell down below. All three of us were kept in an adjoining one, just to be sure we hadn’t been turned, and well. We hadn’t. Ran a mission to recover some intel, and the intel we got apparently had enough for Cel to make a cure. No idea how they did it, way above my head, but they did something right. We tested it out on this poor woman who has been infected, and she got back to normal in a week and change.”

“You - you made a cure? That’s _ incredible_, really,” Hamid says, eyes lighting up. 

Zolf shakes his head. “I just retrieved the information. It was Cel and Wilde what figured it out, though mostly Cel. Handy, having an engineer and expert potion maker on our side.”

“Truly,” Hamid muses. “I’ll have to thank them.”

“Oh, they should be in soon, Azu went to grab them and some meals a while ago. You can tell them then.”

Hamid nods, but he doesn’t look completely at ease, anymore. There’s something upset in his eyes, something confused and curious, and Zolf is about to just let it go, unwilling to press Hamid for answers when he’s only just woken up, but Hamid speaks, cutting through the silence. 

“Zolf, you. You said I didn’t hurt anyone but I remember sitting over you, pressing a knife to your throat, that can’t be _ nothing_,” he says, and he sounds distressed, hurt. “Did - what happened, that evening? I can barely remember any of it, but that part is clear.”

“It’s fine, Hamid,” Zolf says, trying to placate him. “No lasting damage, nothing critical, and it wasn’t you, Hamid.”

“No, I want to see it,” he says, stubborn as always, and Zolf sighs, because he’s never really been able to resist giving Hamid anything, and especially not now, after thinking that they might have lost Hamid forever. So he tilts his head to the side and slightly shifts his beard.

“Oh, dear,” Hamid murmurs, reaching out a shaking hand to press against the small scar on Zolf’s throat. “I -“ he swallows, heavy. “I am so, _ so _ sorry, Zolf, I -“”

Zolf doesn’t second-guess himself before he takes Hamid’s hand in his. “Hey,” he says, glad no one else is in the room to hear how softly it came out. “Hey, it - it wasn’t you. You’ve seen how the infection works, how it twists your mind.”

Hamid doesn’t stop staring at the scar, and Zolf can see the guilt glinting in Hamid’s eyes. “Hamid,” he says, squeezing Hamid’s hand. “It wasn’t you. Alright? And I’m fine now, promise. It stopped bleeding almost immediately.”

Hamid doesn’t look like that made him feel any better, looking too small and fragile against the bed.

There’s a knock at the door and whatever else Zolf was going to say quickly becomes irrelevant anyway, as he drops Hamid’s hand back to the bed, blushing slightly. Azu and Cel come in and Zolf sits back, trying to wipe away the small tears forming in the corner of his eyes. It’s not important; Azu starts tearing up immediately, setting the two food bowls she has down on a nearby table with shaking hands. She leans over the bed and hugs Hamid, being more careful than Zolf has ever seen her. 

“Oh, _ Azu_,” Hamid says, and Zolf can hear the tears in his voice as he clings to her, arms shaking as they wrap around her torso. They don’t let go, for a moment, until Azu pulls back, and both of them have tears running down their faces.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, _ so _ glad,” Azu says, sitting down on the other side of Hamid and reaching out for his hand. She squeezes it, and it looks so small in her grip, so fragile. 

Zolf sits there, silently, as Azu gives her own explanation of what happened, and the smile on Hamid’s face becomes brittle, fake. Cel chatters for a bit about the cure, and Hamid seems slightly less down as they do. He seems to understand a decent amount of it, as well, and Zolf can’t keep the slightly proud smile off of his face as Hamid and Cel trade questions, him asking about the cure and how they figured it out, them asking about how Hamid is feeling and any side effects that may have come along with the cure.

Wilde comes in a moment later and Zolf only just refrains from jumping as the door creaks open.

“Hamid,” he greets, shutting the door gently behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, mostly,” Hamid says. “Thank you as well, Oscar, for all the work you did. I appreciate it.”

Wilde waves it away, coming to stand at the end of Hamid’s bed. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?” he says, ignoring both Zolf and Azu’s warning glare from opposite sides of the bed. Hamid looks a little hesitant, but motions for Wilde to get on with it. 

Which, of course, he does. 

“First, have there been any negative effects from the cure?” he asks, although this question is directed more at Cel than it is at Hamid.

“Not that I can tell,” Cel says. “Seems to be working surreptitiously. No, not that. _ Splendidly. _Yes.”

“Good,” Wilde says. “Hamid? Anything to add?”

”Er… no?” he says. “Not yet, at least. Everything seems to be fine.”

“Fantastic. Now. Do you remember having the cure administered to you?”

Hamid’s face scrunches up as he thinks, tapping his fingers against the bedsheets. “No, sorry. Not even a bit.”

“Do you have any idea how you could have been turned?” Wilde asks, and Zolf hisses a quiet ‘not _ now_’ at him that Wilde summarily ignores. 

Hamid closes his eyes. “I’m - I’m sorry, Oscar, no. There’s a lot from that mission that’s… a blur? It’s hard to remember. Honestly, most of my memories from the past few weeks are… hazy, at best. I don’t even remember seeing anyone other than these three.”

“Well, that’s worrying. The infection messes with more of your memories than we’d expected,” Wilde says, frowning.

“But we can fix people now, yes?” Hamid says, sitting up with his eyes bright. “The cure, we can help?”

Cel nods in tandem with Azu. “Just gotta make some more, or maybe we find a way to mass distribute it… A way to make the _ cure _ pass on as well…” Their eyes light up. “What if - that tentacle monster that controls the weather? Can we get one? Please? We could maybe use it to distribute the cure on a wide basis, now, instead of having to inoculate everyone one by one - oh!” they clap their hands together. “I have. So many ideas. I’ll work on them, but we might have something here. Definitely. Definitely have something here.”

Wilde leaves, with a promise to come back and ask more questions when Hamid’s feeling better, but he does pause in the doorway, throwing a, “It is good to see you back, Hamid,” over his shoulder as he goes.

Zolf rolls his eyes as he leaves, and he thinks he hears Hamid muffle a small laugh as the door swings shut.

“We will give you two some time as well,” Azu says quietly, grabbing Cel’s hand to pull them to their feet and leaning in to hug Hamid again. “I’m so glad we didn’t lose you, Hamid.”

Hamid hugs back, squeezing tightly. “Me too, Azu. I’m so sorry.”

Azu shakes her head, pulling back and resting her hand on Hamid’s shoulder. “This is not something to apologize for. I’m just happy you’re alright.”

Hamid smiles up at her and Azu gives Zolf an encouraging smile. Cel winks behind her, and then tugs Azu out of the room. 

The door quietly shuts behind them, and Hamid and Zolf are alone once again. It’s quiet, now. 

“Zolf?” Hamid says, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for what I put everyone through, really, I - I didn’t expect you all would save me, I -“

“Hamid, what - of course we would try to save you.” Zolf gives him a weak smile. “I nearly killed Wilde for suggesting otherwise.”

Hamid bites his lip. “But - but the protocol -“

“Can stuff it?” Zolf suggests. “You’re my - you’re my friend, Hamid. I care about you, and Azu and Cel do too. Even Wilde, though he’ll never admit it.”

Hamid laughs at that, and Zolf breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Gods, I’m just - I’m so glad you’re okay,” Zolf breathes, and if his hand twitches toward Hamid’s desperate to take hold of it, to feel the warmth against his skin, to prove he’s really alright… no one has to know but him. He can quash these feelings, he has for a while now, and Hamid only just making it back to the land of the living isn’t the time they need to address it.

Hamid gasps, suddenly, and Zolf sits up straight, alert, as his hand goes toward the glaive at his side. “Oh - oh gods, Zolf, I’m so sorry,” Hamid says, stricken, as a hand comes up over his mouth. “I - the memories I have from, well, being taken aren’t great, but I - I nearly - gods, that was so inappropriate of me, I’m so sorry, I -“

“It’s fine, Hamid,” Zolf says, cutting him off with a wince. He knows exactly what moment Hamid is referring to, here. “You. You weren’t yourself, it’s not a problem, alright?”

“But it is,” Hamid says. “Or, well, it’s not a _ problem_, exactly? But Zolf… what that… what _ I _ said, well -“

“We - we don’t have to talk about it,” Zolf cuts him off, awkwardly running a hand through his hair as he glances toward the door. “Just - we can let it go.”

“No, I can’t, actually.” Hamid has a mulish look on his face, and it’s easy to spot even if he’s not looking directly at Zolf. “It - that thing was right. When it possessed me. I. Zolf, I do have… feelings for you, and I understand if they’re not reciprocated, I hope we can move on as -“

“Hamid,” Zolf says, “shut up.”

He leans in, giving Hamid the chance to back away or push him off, but Hamid doesn’t move, and his lips are brushing against Hamid’s, and his chest is on _ fire _ where Hamid’s hands rest against him. 

His hand comes up to cradle Hamid’s face and Hamid pushes up into the kiss, one hand traveling from Zolf’s chest to the back of his head, running through the closely-cropped hair there as he presses himself closer, lips sliding together.

Zolf pulls away to breathe, or tries to, but Hamid’s fingers are twisted into the front of his shirt, and his breath is warm against Zolf’s cheek.

“Oh,” Hamid breathes out, holding Zolf close, and his eyes are bright as he looks up at him. “_Oh.” _

And then Hamid is smiling, and his hands are twining through his hair, pulling Zolf down to meet him halfway. 

—

The world is still broken, and it’s going to take a lot to solve it, but they have a cure now. Hamid is alive, he’s okay, and they can _ fix everyone_. There will always be more missions, there will always be more people to save, but everything is a lot less hopeless than it was. 

“You ready?” Zolf says, glancing over at Hamid. There’s no longer an empty space beside him, and as Hamid gives him a radiant grin, he feels warmth bloom in his chest. Hamid reaches over and interlocks their fingers, and Zolf can’t hold back the soft smile on his own face.

“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> so we don’t totally know how this whole infection thing works and the ‘the person that you’d take a bullet for us behind the trigger’ line came into my head and also that one scene from hill house (you’ll know it) and i went ‘huh infected hamid’. also i like the idea that it saps your magic. this got a bit The Stranger but it’s fine 
> 
> also u know how in stranger things all the demagorgon people are like, connected? yeah that. all the infected are like a hive mind in my head. love that. 


End file.
